ivory and concrete
by soaring-smiles
Summary: All those lives he took, and she is the one he saved and just look at her. Human and flawed and stunning. [10/Rose AU]


**vampire!AU because I can. Don't worry, I've not taken the traditional path (I don't think) **

**and if you have a thing for vampires, rosa_acicularis on 'a teaspoon and an open mind' (website devoted purely to DW fanfic) has two that I love- one that's cracky and a bit fluffy, and one that'll tear your heart out and stomp on it. she's also a stunning writer in general (her version of Rose and the 10th doctor in 'but broken lights' is one of my favourite that I've ever read, and that story is also one of my favourites) so if you haven't heard of her go ****_now_**

**okay now that we're done promoting one of my favourite writers lets get back on track by warning that this one is a bit dark folks**

**anyway**

**i might write a sequel to this depending on the feedback, but I feel it can stand on its own as a one shot so I'm listing it as complete for now**

**enjoy and please do remember that reviews make my day :D**

* * *

"Koschei." The word reverberates around the dim, dusty room, cold and stunned.

The man lifts his head from the body on the table, crimson staining his chin and mouth. He grins, and the effect is grotesque; a tear of red and white in the dull light.

"Brother," he says throatily, causally. "Come to join-"

"She's a child." Blinding rage swoops over him, and he has Koschei by the collar, and is forcibly dragging him away. "A _child_, you bastard."

"I'm hungry," he whines. "She was the only one there. It's not like I'm breaking rules, all I wanted was just a quick bite-"

"Not the children. You know it's that way. It's wrong." He slams open the warehouse door, and tosses Koschei outside, ignoring his grunt of pain.

"Wrong? Have a look at yourself in the mirror, brother. Or not! We're monsters, _Theta_-"

"Don't call me that-"

"Why does it matter? Give the girl back to me, she's just a council child. No one will miss her-"

With that, every last broken remnant of respect and affection he might have still had for Koschei evaporates.

"Fuck off," he says quietly, "And don't you dare try something like this ever again."

Koschei looks up with flinty eyes, his face smeared with blood, drawing harsh, ragged breaths in. He stands slowly, and makes a mocking bow towards him, the emotionless face promising an ending to something they've sustained for over three hundred years.

"As you wish. _Brother_."

And he's gone, sprinting into the shadows, blurring into a indefinite shape amongst the trees.

Holding a hand to his head, the Doctor steps back to the girl, about ten, who's slumped motionless, a bloody, messy bite mark splayed across her neck. Her chest barely rises and falls, but she's alive.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs to her, and digs in his pocket for his phone. He's gotten used to the technology with little difficulty.

"I have an emergency..."

By the time glaring lights brighten the room, he is gone, taking with him only the child's name, written in cursive all over her school bag.

Rose Tyler, and she nearly died tonight.

He wonders whether it was worth it.

* * *

A few lonely months later he is out as early as he can be, the sun barely setting in the blanket of pink clouds. He passes Jericho Street Primary, hands planted in pockets, head turned towards the concrete.

"Oi!" a little girl yells, from over the fence. With a shock, he realises it's the child Koschei nearly bled dry. She has her hair in pigtails, and is pointing at a ball that's landed near him. "D'you mind?"

Wordlessly, he tosses it over, and notices a reddened scar on her neck, raised on the pale skin. He wonders vaguely what her mother thinks it's from.

"Thanks!" She grins at him, turning back to her group of friends, who laugh, dancing closer to snatch the ball away. She seems well. He's relieved he didn't lose Koschei over nothing, that he gets something back.

He moves on, no longer wallowing in his thoughts, but thinking of Hyde Park which is open till midnight, and the book in his pocket.

He likes himself better this way, not reaching for the elusive stars, longing for things he can never have again, but quietly content, making the best of something horrific.

And even as his teeth press against his gums painfully, even though there's a raw ache in his throat, he thinks maybe he'll put off feeding until tomorrow.

For tonight, he can pretend to be the type of man that he used to be.

* * *

His first letter from Koschei comes on a night that's mercifully cloudless, so he can see the sky- or at least the parts of it that London lets shine through the ever-present pollution.

It's crude and threatening, but between the thinly veiled insults, and the detailed exploits, he senses the betrayal and the hurt that Koschei must feel. He can sense an answering pang in him, but ignores it.

Even a monster can have standards.

Koschei's gone back to the Council, and been welcomed by Rassilon personally, back to the stuffy gilt-edged formality, back to thick robes and humans in pens for food time.

He writes he means to become Watchman, to climb up the ranks of the Council. And to overthrow Rassilon himself, to rule the colony.

Worry crashes over him, and he tears the words up, into shreds. Something is brewing, and he wants no part of the resulting storm.

* * *

Another early walk, passing through the dirty, honest Powell Estate, and he thinks of his days as an Official, him and Koschei, and hasty, biting kisses on the foot of his bed. Pain to please, pleasure to pain, it all added to the whirlpool, and suddenly they were out of the Council, together in this loud, human city.

They always did dream far too much.

He sighs, breathing out regret into the air, and ruffling his hair idly. Perhaps he is grieving. How _mortal_.

"Watch out!"

He's knocked to the side by a pair of excitable, small girls, racing across the pavement and nearly bowling him over.

"Sorry!" one of them cries, giggling so hard she can't get the word out. He raises an eyebrow at the familiar voice. His memory is crystal-perfect, and some things he wouldn't forget, anyway.

Rose, and her friend, reckless running and flying blonde hair, pests the both of them.

He is happy she has the chance to be a pest.

* * *

_she can't remember much_

Years pass like quicksilver, darting through his fingers, dropping to the dust.

_only a scream, and the night and she can taste it sometimes, the fear_

He keeps busy, taking up a nighttime shift, becoming a night guard, smuggling drugs occasionally, and grinning happily when he sells the whole ring over to the police.

_when she's twelve, she looks out to see a man on the corner in the dark_

He finds women in clubs, tries unsuccessfully to have a relationship, and regresses back to the bite-and-shag, a technique that's tried and tested by almost every vampire before him.

_he stares up at the stars and Rose Tyler puts her nail polish away and wonders what it's really like up there_

New suits, new jobs, new women, and Koschei's sporadic letters, growing ever more cryptic, to the point where one them is half Ancient Greek and half morse code. They all run to the same river though, about mild threats, insane plots and ending off with a sarcastic 'your brother'.

_the man tapped out a beat on her side as he sank his teeth into her neck, didn't he?_

Rose Tyler he runs into often. He's not sure why, but feels lighter after each time. He pulls the door open for her at Tesco's when she's thirteen, and stops a would-be pickpocket with a grimace and a glare.

_she wants to thank that man, but he is gone and the purse in her hands restored. Mickey will laugh at this, but she sees a coat disappear on the corner_

She gets lost, and he hands her a map, and then when she comes running back, panicked because she doesn't know which bus to catch, he hands her the fare, and points out the right one.

_he_ _was right, and seems so familiar, where has she seen him_

Her fifteenth, and she and her friends all stumble home drunk, and he follows behind, placing a hand on one man's shoulder, swathed in the shadows. "Going anywhere?" he asks politely, and then drives his knee into the man's stomach, pinching the knife while he's at it.

_she looks back, and the heels falter and a man- fat, trembling- rushes out and behind him is the gleam of something sharp and metal_

He sees her with a bloke called Jimmy Stone, watches her throw her life away, and does nothing. At least, nothing until she's away from him and safe.

_she leaves that stupid stoner of a bloke but he comes after her until one day he doesn't and the next time she meets him he has a broken wrist and terrified eyes_

(humanity is a disease, and one he is all too happy to be infected with)

And when she's sixteen, and he is sitting at the pub, eyeing her beer disapprovingly, his phone rings.

_she's tipping the drink back, letting the condensation run down her chin and suddenly a strange looking man bursts past, something terrible and empty breaking in his eyes_

"It's me," Koschei whispers, and he feels his world shatter into glass, splintering and buckling. "I...they're..."

He stumbles home, lost in a stupor of pain.

_she dreams of his empty, horrified features, pale and crushed_

They're all gone.

* * *

He lets the woman fall to the ground, wipes his mouth, and steps back. Turning, leaving her, he walks away. She'll be fine; he didn't take enough to kill. It's not like there's anyone left to shake their head, anyway.

Wolf in sheep's clothing, and he's lost his pack.

Koschei's letters have dwindled. He's in Amsterdam, drowning himself in prostitutes and red lights, every night.

And he's in London. Still. He can't seem to leave, hates Paris with a passion, can't stand Berlin or Prague. And Moscow, so empty, the grand building of his kin left to rot in ashes. Choked under rain and snow.

And so he stays.

* * *

The club is far too wild tonight. He wants food, but is not hungry enough to exert the effort.

Wandering outside, smoke and alcohol clinging to him, he kicks aside a beer can, treads slowly down the street, ignoring the couple fucking against the alleyway.

Passing a doorway, a blonde girl catches his eye as she passes by him, a streak of sequins and eyeliner.

_Oh_.

He hasn't seen her in so long, afraid he'd snap her neck and drain her, so twisted was his mind. And then he stopped trying to. Lost himself amongst the nightlife, forgetting about everything else he once enjoyed. Became what he always swore he's never be.

She must be nineteen now, and she looks happy. A silvery scar catches his eye. And he's glad.

_a bloke is standing outside, something tugs at her, but she's already gone, trading a look back like a dropped coin, and he's smiling_

Even though her dress is too short, she's wearing far too much make-up, and her hair is bleached blonde, he knows she's far more. And he let her be far more. All those lives he took, and she is the one he saved and just _look_ at her. Human and flawed and _stunning_.

And he nods, grins, feels something dangerously close to contentment, and the ache in his throat and chest recedes for a moment. He's done something he can be proud of, at least.

_she wonders what his name is_

Rose Tyler, and nine years later.

He likes Friday nights, suddenly.


End file.
